


Occludent

by Asidian



Category: 999: Nine Hours Nine Persons Nine Doors - Fandom
Genre: Hatesex, M/M, Smut, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-22
Updated: 2012-05-22
Packaged: 2017-11-05 19:28:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/410163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Asidian/pseuds/Asidian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Junpei still does not know why he always has such urgency- why the sex is always rough and hurried, the words biting. He thinks that perhaps it is a way to forget. He has seen the changes in the man’s body, marked the weight lost where there was little enough to lose. There are dark patches below the man’s eyes, and Junpei knows all about that. He understands sleepless nights, and checking five times to ensure the window is locked, and the nightmares that wait inside your own head. Junpei still does not know the man’s last name, but he thinks he knows this, at least.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Occludent

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s notes: Written for the 999 kink meme; the request was Santa/Junpei hatesex. “Maybe Junpei failed to save Akane, and this is what happens as a result.” This is meant to be post safe-end, and the fic assumes that Santa gases everyone surviving at game end and gets them to safety without telling them anything.

The image lies between them, as it always does: her face, too pale behind the vivid spots of color in the cheeks; her eyes, glazed with fever; her breath, more labored with each passing moment. It is all that ever lies between them, Junpei thinks, but he is sure the man beneath him would argue. He is sure the man that called himself “Santa” seven months ago would make some crude comment about his own cock, or the lube, or the sticky mess that will be left when they are finished. 

“Jesus Christ,” the man is saying now. “Put some fucking effort in. I could do better than this with some porn and twenty minutes with my hand.” His grip is hard enough to bruise, and he yanks Junpei forward roughly, demanding. “That way. God dammit, would you fuck me already?”

Junpei drives himself in harder- deep, solid thrusts- and he scrapes his nails down the man’s side in retaliation.

Six months, they have done this. Six months since this man arrived at his doorstep spouting abuse and wanting him in bed, and Junpei still does not know why he always has such urgency- why the sex is always rough and hurried, the words biting. He thinks that perhaps it is a way to forget. He has seen the changes in the man’s body, marked the weight lost where there was little enough to lose. There are dark patches below the man’s eyes, and Junpei knows all about that. He understands sleepless nights, and checking five times to ensure the window is locked, and the nightmares that wait inside your own head. Junpei still does not know the man’s last name, but he thinks he knows this, at least.

“If I wanted someone who fucks like a little girl,” Aoi is saying, “I’d have found a little girl. Quit wasting my time and man up already.” Aoi’s hand has found his own cock, and when it tightens its hold, a slight tremor runs through the man’s frame. He arches his back- lifts his hips- bites down on Junpei’s shoulder, hard, to stifle the sound he’d begun to make.

”Ow,” Junpei complains. “Shit! That hurt!”

The teeth relax their hold, and a warm, willing mouth applies suction, instead. When Aoi’s tongue laves across the still-sensitive skin, Junpei groans. He is not gentle when he responds in kind; he seizes hold of the man’s hips harder than he really needs to, jerking him up into the quickening rhythm. 

This time, they have made it no farther than the hallway into the main room of Junpei’s apartment, and when Aoi reaches out a hand to gain some leverage, the little table that stands by the doorway for his wallet and keys comes crashing down. The keys land between them with a metallic jingle, and an annoyed sound- a “tch” in the back of Aoi’s throat- is the only prelude before they are seized and flung vaguely in the direction of the living room.

Junpei hears them land, and he thinks about looking for them, after this man has left. He thinks about getting on his hands and knees to search under the couch, and over the lust- over the slick warmth of the man’s body clenched around his cock- Junpei feels a surge of anger.

“You are such a dick sometimes,” he accuses.

But Aoi only laughs: a hard laugh, sharp around the edges. “You have no idea,” he says.

Junpei isn’t sure what he means by that, exactly. After all, the man has provided month after month of blatant, objective examples- a whole string of dick moves that could be recorded and cataloged chronologically somewhere to be used as an illustration for the term in a set of encyclopedias. When Aoi opens his mouth to speak again, however, Junpei decides abruptly that he does not want to hear whatever is likely to come out. There is too much of a chance that it will come with the irresistible urge to belt the man right across that infuriating smile.

Instead of waiting for it, he seizes a fistful of that ridiculous spiked hair, and he drags Aoi up into what might have been a kiss under any other circumstances, between any other people. Between them, it is nothing more than a meeting of mouths: a clashing of teeth, a warring of tongues, the force bruising as they make this, too, into a battle.

For as many times as they have had sex, Junpei realizes, this is a first. The thought comes as Aoi begins to respond in kind- that this is the one thing they have never done, forgotten for so long as unnecessary. It does not surprise him that it is as harsh as the rest of the act, as unsentimental. 

He feels Aoi’s hand between them, moving at a frantic pace, and he recalls with a pang of regret that it is Akane he had imagined kissing, once upon a time. He pictures her face now, scant centimeters from his own- remembers her body pressed against him at the bottom of a set of elaborate stairs. She was soft in all the right places and he thinks, as Aoi bites down on his lower lip, that her mouth would be soft, as well. She would not kiss this way.

The man below him on the floor breaks for air, and he rocks his hips up sharply, no longer quite holding to a rhythm. “Oh, fuck,” he groans, and Junpei knows that he is close.

He is close, himself- and so he lets his eyes fall closed and surrenders to sensation, to the hot friction on his cock. In his mind, he paints a picture of Akane’s face, and he tries to keep her from looking the way she did in the final instants. He tries to imagine her healthy, laughing, free of fever- but his thoughts keep returning to those last moments, to those words he did not understand. 

It would be easier if he knew, he thinks. If he had an answer- escaped, or kidnapped, or even killed- he might have been able to let her go. But he has nothing, nothing at all, and she fills his mind as he comes, back arched and fists clenched, letting the pleasure shake its way through him.

Aoi cries out beneath him, a hoarse, abrupt sound, and the wet heat of his completion spatters between them.

Junpei finds himself wishing that the man could have kept his mouth shut, just this once. His voice sounds nothing like Akane’s at all.


End file.
